Remembering Sunday
by catopiuh
Summary: Roy tried not to think about his past when it was so easy to be swept away in it. -- MarthxRoy, bit of a PWP.


Disclaimer: I don't own the Smash Bros. or anything relating to them.

Notes: This takes place under the assumption (that I personally prefer to imagine) is that the reason Roy wasn't in Brawl was because he left due to another war in Pherae. He _is_ a General, after all. He'd have to return for something like that.

I didn't really intend for this to turn out so PWP-ish.

* * *

The redhead's eyes regarded the splatter of stars against the night sky, shining brightly even from so far away. The galaxies twisted clearly in sight, flowing among the misty clouds in swirls of purple, blue, red, and light itself. Some swirled and spun like tops, some unknown and invisible force moving it from the center. Others simply flowed across the sky as if someone had poured a band of milky blues against the black of the night. It truly was a spectacular sight -- one that he'd longed for so very long. There were many occasions when he'd lay in the Fountain of Dreams stage back at the Smash Mansion, silently longing for a sight like this.

_The Smash Mansion_...

Pain and regret twisted at his heart as he recalled it, a frown twisting at his lips. It was the first and last thing he wanted to think of at the same time. But the longer he looked up at the sky, the longer and harder he thought about it. Suddenly he realized that though this was the image he had wished for back then... he was now left wishing for the image of back then.

_Samus..._

No, no, he'd told himself he wouldn't do this.

_Link..._

Sulking over the past wouldn't help him at all. It would only serve to distract him from what needed to be done. Each old friend he thought about now might cost him the life of one of the friends he had now, here, in this war.

_Dark, Peach, Falcon, Zelda..._

He found himself missing even people he never thought he would. Old familiarities which he'd grown accustomed to, comfortable with -- that he'd taken for granted. Sighing through his nose and still with a frown on his face, he closed his eyes. Again, he almost regretted it, for the sight that flashed through his mind was the first and last thing he wanted to see, at the same time.

A smile -- rare, usually only seen for him, and probably because of some comment of the redhead's that had slipped thoughtlessly out. Sapphire eyes that, usually hardened and cold, had softened as he regarded him, quietly and calmly listening to whatever tale or idea he might be relaying to him. His heart ached as he brought his hands up to hold either side of his head as he thought of Marth, helpless to the bluenette's presence inside his mind. Even so far away in both time and space he couldn't escape Marth. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop his image from coming. He couldn't stop himself from dwelling over memories of the past. Rubbing his temples, he gave a softly frustrated sigh, quietly cursing and hating and loving the Prince for plaguing him so.

And he did plague him, for it seemed every night he found his thoughts dwelling on him like this. He thought back over and smiled at the thought of _Marth's _smile. Of the boy's laughter, rare but beautiful as it was, of the conversations they'd in the past shared, of games played and meals eaten, of kind words and secrets share between one another, of his embrace, his kiss... his taste, his touch... his whispers, his body...

Face flushing slightly, Roy's hands dropped from his temples and he sat up straight, looking around. The grassy hill was still vacant, safe for him. He looked down it, eying the rows upon rows of tents set up some ways away, most darkened with sleep (though a few still remained up, judging by the light flickering from within them). The boy-General breathed calmly and slowly as he watched his troops for some while, still and making little movement except to chat with each other.

Slowly, he relaxed again, laying back in the cool grass. He swallowed, trying not to think about how he was about to surrender to his thoughts. But he did, calling back memories of old times, of habits of the bluenette Prince that he'd grown familiar with. About how soft and nimble his fingers felt on his skin. Marth's voice, softly seductive -- "_Yes, Roy_?" -- as his hand slid slowly across Roy's thigh -- or, so the boy imagined, though in actuality it was his own hand sliding up his leg, slowly undoing his belt and untying his breeches.

He touched himself through his boxers, licking his lips, and the heat that had been pooling in his stomach since his thoughts had first begun began to travel southwards. His heartbeat picked up with excitement and longing as his body reacted to his fantasy. A soft moan slipped past his lips as his pleasure increased with each stroke through the fabric. _Oh_, how good the Prince's touch would feel -- and as Roy closed his eyes, he could see the darkened shade of lust in Marth's sapphire...

"Ah..."

Maybe a teasing tone would fill his voice, and that small smile would remain as he sat between the redhead's legs. He wouldn't be embarrassed or stop upon feeling the stirs of arousal in the boy-General's boxers. He might even give a small smirk, confident and proud of his affect on Roy, and keep smirking, keep watching, keep _touching _-- and so, Roy kept touching.

"_Ahhh_," he moaned softly as he spread his legs apart, shifting a hand inside his boxers. His breathing quickened as he began to stroke himself in manners he remembered Marth to have done it in the past, always perfect and capable of drawing such gasps from his throat and -- "Nnh, _Marth_..." -- groans of his name, soon turned to cries. How many times had moaned the familiar name? How many times had he heard the softly encouraging reply, "_Yeees_?" How many times had he been reduced to begging for more...?

His breath left him in heady moans as he worked harder, hips raising off the ground and back forming an arch. An occasional "Marth" would pass his lips, aching and longing, and it was easy to forget where he was; what he was doing. It was so simple to pretend that he was back on a plush bed in the Smash Mansion, without any war or death or anything to worry about, and nothing but such _pleasure_ to think about. He bit his lower lip to restrain another groan, sighing long through his teeth as his eyelashes fluttered. A thousand "if only"s ran through his head, most in anger at himself for having taken such moments for granted. He swallowed back the thickening lump in his throat, pushing the thoughts away. He refused to let them take away his brief moment of pleasure. He _wasn't_ sitting in the overgrown grass of an abandoned hill, jerking himself off for all of the creatures of the night to see. He was on his back beneath the bluenette's lithe form, just waiting anxiously for more.

More was what he'd come to expect, after all. It was probably akin to being spoiled, he'd thought ever since his virginity had been first taken. The light touches to his arousal felt good, of course -- _fuck_, he disagreed as his grip around himself tightened, it felt _wonderful_ -- but it was difficult to be content with just that when he knew what _else_ there was.

Reluctantly he stopped, a feat which took a great deal of will. But that's what Marth always did, with a little smile that drove Roy mad with frustration and impatience. The impatience was there still, and so the redhead couldn't mimic Marth exactly, for the bluenette would be slow in his teases, loving pushing his buttons. He, however, licked his fingers all too hastily, sucking on them to coat them in saliva, before lifting his hips slightly to reach behind himself.

This, he'd also learned, was an entirely different matter. Unlike when Marth did it, there was always that moment of hesitation as Roy's fingers waited over his entrance, having to will himself to do it. There was a great moment of swallowing (or more like gulping air, for he was by now panting heavily) his nerves, as even though he knew it wouldn't hurt, his stomach was coiled up in anxiety. And that was why this time there was little time between the licking of his fingers and the shoving of one into himself, for it he gave himself time to consider it he would hesitate. And hesitation, of course, was not befitting of the Prince.

It was uncomfortable. That was all he could think, eyes squeezed shut and teeth grit together as he tried to force himself to relax, for his tensed muscles certainly weren't making the intrusion (minimal as it currently was) any less difficult. Licking his lips, his hand resumed slowly pumping his arousal, it having softened slightly with the strangeness of the sensation. Ran his thumb along the tip, stroked the sensitive nerve endings, elicited another soft groan from his own lips and the finger slowly _curled_ inside of him, searching deeper. His arm was at an awkward angle, but the probing digit certainly wasn't judging by the shock of pleasure that suddenly shot up his back and the painful throb his cock suddenly gave. His breath hitched around a name.

"_Marth..._"

And he was deeper now, more confident as he stroked himself from both the inside out, breathing growing irregular and faster, and they were the Prince's breaths, not his own. The Prince was silent during sex, letting his smiles say all the words -- and it was this that made each and every little gasp or groan that came from him more special. So he'd just be smiling now, and it would be Roy that was making all the noise, for Roy was _loud_ as much as he tried to restrain it, but he could stop his moans now no more than he could stop his back that instinctively arched or his heart that pounded. There were two fingers now, and then three, leaving him gasping, "Please, please, oh God, Marth," for those were the only coherent thoughts in his head now. It was so hot, and the cool night chill suddenly seemed so boiling as his toes curled in his boots, and his body shuddered, longing for _please more_, only there was no more to give, and so he pumped faster to make up for it, hating how he still wasn't _full_ and god he wanted it, that and that release that was so close and he could have if he just have his cock in place of his fingers, if he could have that voice, that long moan in his ear --

_Roy_!

Oh _God._

"_Marth_!" the boy-General cried, hips jerking up as he came, head falling back against the grass.

... and just like that, his fantasy was over. Because really, he wasn't with Marth. Really he _didn't_ see the bluenette's face when he opened his eyes, flushed from his own release. Truly he wasn't in his bed, safe and warm. There _was_ no body secure against his, nor whispered vows of love in his ear.

Because really, he was all alone. Really he took in the sight of a darkened night sky, trying to swallow the lump in his throat as he started to pull his breeches back up. Truly the the grass was itchy against his neck and the night air was beginning to chill him as the heat of the moment faded. There was nothing but him and the grief that was suddenly in his throat and eyes and breath as it came irregularly, the only sound in the night.

Sitting up, Roy of Pherae gave a strangled sob as he dragged his knees up to his chest and buried his face in the, for it was now that he felt even more empty than ever.


End file.
